"Here's the latest news from England," added the great man, as he dropped a paper on the bed. The Subaltern's left hand almost shot out of bed to grasp it. He looked up just in time to see them disappearing through the doorway. He tried to read the paper, but the effort brought the very worst pains back again to his head, so he concealed it under the coverlet of the bed. He was determined to keep that paper. It was already growing dark, when the young Doctor of the Ward came to his bedside, smiling. "We are going to operate on you at eight o'clock," he said. "It will be all right. We'll soon put you straight." "Straight?" he echoed. "Yes, I dare say you will!" CHAPTER XXXII OPERATION The news came as a distinct shock to him. He had not even entertained the possibility of undergoing an operation. Years ago he had had his adenoids removed, and the memory was by no means pleasant. All along he had told himself he would recover in time--that was all he wanted. To have an operation was, he thought, to run another and unnecessary risk. Later in the evening the Sister came in with a large phial, and injected the contents into his arm. "Morphine," she explained. In a moment or so he felt that he did not care what happened. The morphine made him gloriously drunk. "Sister," he confided. "I'm drunk. It isn't fair to go and kill a fellow when he's drunk, you know. It isn't playing the game. You ought to suspend hostilities till I'm sober!" He felt ridiculously proud of himself for these inanities. "I know you," he strutted with laughter. "After it's all over, you'll write home to my people and say, 'The operation was successfully performed, but the patient died soon afterwards!'" By this time they had stripped him of all but his shirt. "Where's my bier? Where's my bier? Is a gentleman to be kept waiting all night for his bier?" he exclaimed, with mock impatience. They lifted him on to a stretcher, and began to push it through the open window into the street. "Farewell, Ophelia!" he cried to the Sister, as his head disappeared. He was too drunk to feel afraid. They carried him into the room that had been turned into a theatre. He found that the same young Doctor was to operate on him. He was alarmed at his youth. "I like a fellow to have white hair if he's to operate on me," he said to himself. Another Doctor began to adjust the ether apparatus. "Look here," he mumbled, "how do you know my heart's strong enough for this sort of thing?" "Don't be a fool; it's your only chance." "Oh, all right. Have it your own way, only don't say I did not warn you!" he replied. "Rather a character," said one of the Doctors, as he placed the sodden wool firmly over his nose and mouth. "Yes," replied the Sister; "he said just now that the operation would be unsuccessful and that he would die!" Drat the woman, she had spoiled his last joke!